


Hearts of Beskar, Hearts of Gold

by Lady_Vibeke



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Cara Dune, Bisexual Din Djarin, Bisexual Paz Vizla, Caretaking, F/M, Families of Choice, Feelings Realization, Flirting, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Keldabe Kiss, Lost Love, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-OT3, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23823532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: Paz blinked slowly, eyes still dreamily trained on Cara."Yeah,” he replied absently. “I mean,no.”He grinned, quite stupidly, and Din realised the drunken haze had been replaced by an entirely different sort of haze.“She kicked my ass,” Paz breathed in amazement.Cara wasn't even trying to hide the self-complacent chuckle tugging at the corner of her lips."She did,” smirked Din. “If it makes you feel better, she kicks everyone's ass.""Gorgeousandinvincible? Am I dreaming?""Paz."But Paz wasn't even listening. He took Cara's hand between his own and went down on one knee, looking up at her through hooded eyes."Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife,mesh'la buruk?”Cara burst out laughing. Din rolled his eyes."Paz.""He's very straightforward,” said Cara, still laughing. “Did he just call mebeautiful danger?""Yeah.”ORCara and Din stumble into Paz Vizla one year after the slaughter on Nevarro. He's not quite the one Din used to know. He also takes an instant shining to Cara, much to Din's amusement. It could be an issue... or maybe not.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Comments: 43
Kudos: 243





	1. The Ghost of Mandalore

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this one in my drafts folder for a while and finally a brief break from work is allowing me to give it some much needed attention.
> 
> As the idea for this story started creeping into my mind, I started picturing Paz as an older version of Jason Mamoa, so that's the man behind the blue helmet for me, now.(Sorry, Jon Favreau. 😅)
> 
> Please, be aware I don't know much about canon outside of the show, so I took every possible liberty with Paz's character. I like to think of him as a grumpy grizzly bear on the outside and a soft teddy bear on the inside.
> 
> **IMPORTANT: hover with your mouse over the Mando'a phrases to see the translations. If you're on a mobile device, I'm afraid you'll have to check the bottom notes for them.**

> _And this is the map of my heart, the landscape  
>  after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is  
> a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying **Hold me  
>  tight, it’s getting cold.**_

> — Richard Siken

***

  
  


Din didn't even know why he was surprised when he arrived at the cantina and found his wife surrounded by a roaring crowd as she kicked a giant man's ass with a big, happy smile on her face.

“Here we go again,” he sighed to the kid, who was sitting in the crook of his elbow with an interested expression directed toward Cara. He loved watching her fight.

“Your mother is incorrigible.”

Cara's adversary was _huge:_ twice her size, with shoulders so broad he must have struggled to get through the tiny entrance door. And despite this he was pathetically succumbing to Cara's flawless attacks.

Din watched for a couple of minutes, rolling his eyes every time one of Cara's punches and kicks landed on the poor guy's weak spots and the audience cheered. Something in the way the guy was countering Cara's blows gave him a weird ticklish feeling in the nape of his neck; it looked oddly familiar, but it was probably because he knew Cara's fighting style so well, by now, and there were only so many ways one could dodge or block her.

Sighing to himself, Din leant against the counter and, fishing a handful of credits from the leather pouch on his belt, tossed them to the bartender:

“Fifty on the girl.”

“Son,” scoffed the lady. “Don't let her hear you call her _girl_ if you don't want that little neck of yours snapped like a twig. She's already knocked out two of the best fighters around here.”

“I'm sure she has,” said Din proudly, just as Cara slammed a merciless hook across the guy's face, sending him collapsing to the floor with a pitiful grunt.

“There goes another one,” the bartender sniggered. She gave Din his fifty credits back and added another fifty.

The crowd was hollering ecstatically, awed by Cara's performance.

Din glanced down at the kid, met his curious gaze and shook his head helplessly.

“She's going to be insufferable about this.”

Slowly, the people scattered away, leaving Cara standing in the middle of the makeshift ring, sweaty and very self-satisfied. She had a split lip and a surfacing bruise under one eye; at her feet the other guy wasn't as lucky: his nose was bleeding and the black eye Cara had given him was swollen and quickly growing purple.

Din was about to look back up at Cara to meet her jubilant expression when something on the guy's arm caught his attention.

“What the-”

On the bare left bicep, next to a quite unmistakable sun-shaped scar, was a black tattoo representing a stylised flowered branch, a symbol Din happened to know very well: the emblem of Clan Vizla. And there was only one Vizla who wore the emblem on that spot, Din knew better than anybody else.

_Paz?_

Could this really be? Could that man on the ground – without an armour, _without a helmet_ – be the honourable tribe companion Din used to know?

He scrambled through the cantina until he reached the hollow space at the centre of the room where Cara was collecting credits and compliments. She beamed at him as soon as she spotted him, but Din walked straight to the guy to observe him better.

It could be him. Easily. The size, the heavy build... Din had never seen Paz's face but he had seen his body, and even though it had been years since he had last seen Paz so exposed, he would have recognised that tattoo and that scar among thousands – millions, even.

He tentatively poked a foot into the man's ribs.

“Paz?”

Cara appeared beside him. The kid instantly threw himself at her and she barely caught him in time.

“Did you just call him-” she asked, trying to juggle the giggling kid into a decent position.

“It's him,” said Din, slightly disconcerted. What were the odds of finding one of his own here, in this hell hole of a town?

The guy rolled on his back with a pained groan and struggled to open his eyes. It took him a few seconds and several attempts to blink Din into focus, but when he finally did, his face opened into an expression of shock mixed with mirth.

“Din? Din karking Djarin? Is that you?”

So, Paz Vizla was handsome, though definitely on the scruffy side.

 _Devilishly_ handsome, if Din really wanted to be accurate. Not that it mattered. He had never cared about whatever face lay beneath the blue helmet that was as familiar to him as his own.

He held out his hand and waited for Paz to clasp it, then pulled him up to is feet. The bastard was damn heavy.

“It's a small galaxy, isn't it?” joked Cara, taking in Paz's sorry figure with a hand on a hip and an intrigued grin curling her lips.

Paz was slowly coming back from his haze. He smelled like alcohol – _a lot of it_ – but the beating must have knocked some lucidity into him. However, he still appeared a bit hazy as his eyes settled on Cara, scrutinising her as though they were seeing her for the first time.

“You're... beautiful,” he frowned, his balance swaying a little.

Cara arched her eyebrows, utterly unimpressed. The child was observing Paz's impressive size with eyes as big as saucers.

"Paz.” Din seized him by his arms and shook him. “ _Paz._ Are you alright?"

"Do you think he has a concussion?" Cara wondered, but Din, who knew how the cogs in Paz's brain worked, reassured her: that wasn't the case. Paz was just slightly... _distracted._

"He doesn't have a concussion. Do you, Paz?" he said, waving a hand in front of the man's eyes.

Paz blinked slowly, eyes still dreamily trained on Cara.

"Yeah,” he replied absently. “I mean, _no.”_ He grinned, quite stupidly, and Din realised the drunken haze had been replaced by an entirely different sort of haze.

“She kicked my ass,” Paz breathed in amazement.

Cara wasn't even trying to hide the self-complacent chuckle tugging at the corner of her lips.

"She did,” smirked Din. “If it makes you feel better, she kicks _everyone's_ ass."

"Gorgeous _and_ invincible? Am I dreaming?"

"Paz."

But Paz wasn't even listening. He took Cara's hand between his own and went down on one knee, looking up at her through hooded eyes.

"Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, _mesh'la buruk?”_

Cara burst out laughing. Din rolled his eyes.

_"Paz."_

"He's very straightforward,” said Cara, still laughing. “Did he just call me _beautiful danger?"_

"Yeah,” confirmed Din, amused. “Sorry, man,” he said to Paz, offering him a pat on his shoulder. “She's taken. _Very_ jealous husband.”

It took a few seconds more than necessary for Paz to let the news sink in.

 _"You?_ _Husband?”_ He gaped at Din, then at Cara, then at Din again, eyes wide in astonishment. “You son of a bantha! Where did you find this gem?"

Cara arched an eyebrow at him.

"Gem's name is Cara,” she informed him, adjusting the kid on her hip. “Nice to meet you, Paz."

Paz took the hand she was holding out for him but, instead of shaking it, he took it to his lips and kisses the top of Cara's gauntlet.

"Enchanted, my warrior goddess."

Cara grinned.

"You never call me _warrior goddess,”_ she pouted at Din, who sighed patiently and wisely decided to avert the conversation to safer and more pending topics.

“Let's get out of here. You two have put on enough of a show, for tonight.”

They headed toward the exit. Paz's step wasn't very firm: he kept swaying and tripping in his own feet.

_ "Copaani gaan, vod?" _

_"K'atini!”_ Paz snapped when Din tried to help him walk.

"Careful, Din,” Cara meddled, catching Paz on his other side right before he lost his balance. “He's got an injured leg."

The kid was having the time of his life, held tight under her arm like a bag of flour.

Arms flung over Din's and Cara's shoulders to keep him standing, Paz turned to Cara, squinting in puzzlement.

"How-"

Cara scoffed.

"Your dominant side is the left, but you kept attacking from the right, and never threw me a single kick, even though I gave you plenty of chances."

Paz looked like he might pass out any moment, and somehow still managed to flash Cara a smitten simper.

"Unmarry him. _Please?"_

Cara laughed. "We should take a look at you leg, buddy. You got a place in this shithole?"

"Yeah."

“Is it far?”

In a tone that didn't sound completely sure, Paz replied: “No.”

Din and Cara exchanged a doubtful look, but what other choice did they have?

“Lead the way.”

Din was still trying to decipher his old pal's behaviour. He had been a proud Mandalorian, maybe the proudest, and seeing him in this lowly condition was sad, as if the last vestige of the pride of Mandalore was dying before his own eyes and there was nothing Din could do about it.

Damar Nuur was one of Corellia's shabbiest towns and certainly the least likely to stumble into a Mandalorian. Din kept wondering what had brought Paz to giving up his armour – _his identity_ – to settle down into this anonymous place and just drink his days away.

What had he been doing this past year? Had he dragged himself from one seedy cantina to another trading his fighting skills for booze? Was this all that was left of the valorous soldier Paz had once been?

Din and Cara dragged him through the dirty streets following his drowsy directions – and taking the wrong turn several times. Tucked in the crook of Cara's neck, the kid had fallen asleep not long after they left the cantina; he was still snoring soundly when Paz, after three failed attempts, finally recognised his door among an impressively long row of concrete blocks that were, apparently, homes.

Din was waiting for Paz to produce a key or something like that, but all Paz did was barge forward and the door slammed open. They entered and closed the door. Inside, there was much that could identify the place as a proper _home:_ a table in a corner hosted a camp cooker and a couple of burnt pans, along with several empty bottles; in another corner, an ancient armchair stood by a small fireplace with a lopsided stool posing as a side table. There were two doors on the opposite side of the room, presumably leading to the bedroom and the fresher.

"Welcome to my humble abode,” said Paz, flipping the lights on. A couple of wobbly yellowish neons flickered and seemed to struggle to stay on.

"Humble is a generous term,” argued Cara, looking around with a frown. “Did something die in here?"

Din kicked an empty can out of the way and sighed at the general desolation of the place.

"His dignity, I'm afraid."

 _"Copaani mirshmure'cye, ner vod?"_ Paz growled, trying to grab Din by his shoulders, but tumbled into the filthy carpet and nearly fell face down.

 _"Keudesiir, ner vod,” _Din soothed. “You have to admit you've let yourself go."

Grunting, Paz grabbed a half empty bottle from the floor, took a quick smell and, with a shrug, down the remnant of its content in one go.

“Forgive me for my unhealthy coping mechanisms,” he grumbled with a grimace. “I lost what you lost, but I didn't gain what you gained.” He tossed the bottle into a bin (and missed it) and gave a sharp nod toward Cara, who was still holding the sleeping baby. “If I'd had a _riduur_ and a child, you really think I'd be rotting in this stinky hole?”

Din froze, taken aback by the blunt honesty Paz's voice had been laced with. He could see his point, now: without the kid to give him a purpose and Cara to look after him, Din would have probably ended up not much differently from this, after his reckless stunt with the Guild and the Code.

“Okay, you two, _udesii.” _Cara came forward, placed the child in Din's arms and gave him a warning look, then turned to Paz. _“_ Sit down, big man,” she ordered, pointing a finger at the armchair behind him. “Let me check out that leg.”

Paz obeyed, docile as a puppy, but didn't spare Cara a sultry smirk.

“There's so much more of me worth checking out, you know?”

“Yeah,” she agreed suavely. _“Look at those eyes.”_

Din could hardly contain his smug amusement. If Paz thought it would be easy to win Cara over with his lame antics, he was going to face a big, big disappointment: nobody could beat Cara at her own game.

Paz sat back and let Cara roll the left leg of his pants up to his knee to uncover the wound in his calf. Cara's hands stilled on the fabric as soon as she saw it; Din nearly gasped: it was along, thick slash, likely a blaster shot, that cut deep in Paz's flesh, the skin around it an angry red and kept together by strips of common tape soaked in dried blood and purulent secretions.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Cara whispered under her breath, a deep, concerned scowl furrowing her brow.

"This is not good,” she said, gazing up at Paz. “How long have you been neglecting this wound?"

Paz gave a light, grumpy shrug.

"Couple of days?"

A stern glare from Cara made him groan and sink depper into the armchair.

"Maybe a week?"

Cara's glare intensified.

"Okay, more like two weeks."

Cara took another thorough look at the wound, then reached up to touch a hand over Paz's forehead. A slight pang of jealousy stung in din's chest: that was a gesture Cara had always reserved for himself and the kid; seeing her do it to somebody else, even if that somebody was Paz, felt odd, to say the least.

"You're not drunk," she assessed with a sigh. "You're feverish."

"I'm not _just_ drunk, then,” Paz quipped, but Cara wasn't amused.

"If you were trying to give yourself a mortal infection, you've been doing a remarkable job."

"No need to bring out sarcasm, _cyar'ika._ I'm already head over heels for you."

"I'm gonna need to cut off the necrotic tissue,” said Cara, deliberately ignoring his comment. “Disinfect, and patch up. It's gonna hurt."

She met Paz's eyes with a stern expression, to which he responded with a shameless wink.

"A reasonable price to pay in exchange of your hands on me."

Cara liked him. Despite her composed demeanour, Din could see the light shade of pink dusting her cheeks, the ghost of a smile fighting to surface on her lips. So far, he'd seen an expression like that on her face only for himself.

"Do you have a med-pack in here?" Cara asked, checking around for any sign of civilisation around the room, with no luck. The only thing Din could spot vaguely resembling a medical tool was the pair of rusty scissors stuck into what looked like a chunk of dried meat.

"Med-packs are for the weak," Paz groaned, flinching when Cara purposely dug a finger into his wound.

"Or for the dead."

Din snickered, and Cara turned back to chuckle at him. He loved her when she switched to medical mode and got all serious and professional. If she hadn't been such an awesome fighter, she would have made an excellent doctor. To be honest, she would have made an excellent _anything._ Sometimes he could barely conceive how in awe he was of this woman – _his_ woman.

As if she could read his thoughts, Cara smiled at him, making his heart jump in his chest. He would never get used to the heart-shattering beauty of this smile.

The child stirred with a light gurgle; Din gently rocked him back to sleep.

“How did you get yourself injured?” he inquired, sending Paz a curious look. The angle of the wound was strange, it looked like the sho had been fired from very up close.

Paz didn't disappoint: his answer was as extravagant as Din had expected.

“Hit on the wrong girl's boyfriend.”

It made Din shake his head in disbelieving fondness. He remembered this Paz, the young heart-breaker who liked to fool around with every hot boy or girl in the tribe. It had been foolish of him to even _ask._

Cara got her own med-pack and proceeded to clean and suture Paz's wound. He watched her work with open fascination, his eyes flickering all over her as though there was something about her he was trying to figure out.

By the time Cara was done, he had dozed off. Din had to wake him to move him to his bed, which was more like a very basic berth with a blanket and a flat pillow.

 _"Vor'e, ner vod,”_ Paz mumbled sleepily against Din's shoulder as Din eased him down onto the thin mattress. He tucked him in, then gave him a pat on his arm.

“You're welcome.”

He felt exhausted when he walked back into the main room.

“He's out,” he announced with a sigh. Everything was starting to rain down on him: stumbling into Paz, of all people, and finding him so broken and miserable had been a surprise, and not a pleasant one. Din was glad Cara was being so supportive, because he wasn't sure he would have been able to live with himself if she'd asked him to turn his back to one of his own. Then again, Cara would have never asked any such thing of him.

Cara looked up at him from the floor. She had found a basin to use as a cot for the baby and had also somehow managed to improvise a sleeping arrangement for herself and Din with some blankets and the cushions from the armchair.

“Let's hope he sleeps off some of the fever.”

“You should get some sleep, too,” he said, giving an eloquent once-over to the bruises on her face and her scraped knuckles. “You've done enough, for today.”

She was exhausted, too, he could see it, but in a completely different way than he was.

“You, too, smartass,” she argued pointedly. “Come here,” she added, holding out her arms for him.

Din happily obliged. He sank down to the floor at her side, let her pull his helmet off and set it aside, then laid down with her, his arms around her waist, her hands on his face as she pulled him down into a kiss.

“Turn off that overactive brain of yours for a few hours and just rest, will you?” she whispered upon his lips. “We'll figure out what to do with the big guy in due time.”

Din pushed her down on her back as he moved upon her to claim another kiss. Cara folded her arms around his neck and opened her mouth for him, welcoming the caress of his tongue around hers with a soft moan that elicited a throaty groan of pleasure in response. He clutched her hips, bracing his weight on his elbows, the wet sound of their kisses echoing distantly in his ears. There was no way he could ever properly express how much he loved this woman, how insanely grateful he was to have her.

He slowly pulled back, panting, and pressing his forehead upon hers to catch his breath.

“What would I do without you, Dune?”

Cara gave one last peck to his lips, then laid down, drawing him with herself to let him rest his head on her chest.

“Same thing I'd do without you,” she muttered against his hair. “You'd be lost and lonely.”


	2. Echoes from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy has many faces. Not all of them are evil, but it takes some guts to confront them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what? Two chapters just became three. I TRIED to stick to the plan, but no, these guys decided to talk and talk and talk, and feelings needed to be discussed. How rude, I know.

"Don't let the kid wander off! We don't know what sort of illness he might catch from this place."

Din stopped one inch before letting the child's feet touch the floor of Paz's house and, sighing, straightened back up.

The child gazed up at him with a puzzled expression wrinkling his forehead.

“Sorry, kid,” said Din. “You heard the boss: this place is not baby-safe.”

“To put it nicely,” Cara cut in from the little corner by the window where she was warming up some soup for Paz.

“You should go check if the big guy's awake,” she said, stirring the soup with a delightfully horrified face. “If he's not dead yet, this shit's definitely going to kill him. I don't know how he survived this long on his own.”

She stilled for one second and, as if sensing the shirking feeling in Din's heart, turned around with a small smile.

“Hey.” Her tone was so much softer, now. “It's not your fault this happened.”

It _was,_ Din couldn't shake the guilt off his chest. Not that he was even trying, anyway. He had picked his fight when he'd chosen to save the child from the Imps; the Covert hadn't had any choice: they were a family, they would always stand up for one of their own. Their sacrifice had been in the name of honour, but how many had died? How many of the tribe were feeling lost and crushed by grief like Paz?

Din felt selfish for the life he had built without looking back. He had a clan of his own, a wife, a child. He had a purpose. Paz had nothing because of him.

He went to the bedroom, the empty shell of his armour glaring at him from the main room's floor. He didn't know if Paz still had his armour, buried somewhere under all this trash; if he'd sold it off for money, he really was beyond hope.

He found Paz much in the same position he had been when he'd last checked up on him an hour ago: lying on his side with his back to the door, motionless. By his breathing, however, Din could tell that this time he was awake.

“You feeling any better?”

The quiet rise and fall of Paz's massive shoulders stilled for a moment before a weak, croaky voice replied, “Nothing I can't take.”

The self-commiseration was heavy in Paz's voice, thick and laden with exhaustion, but part of that exhaustion had nothing to do with the fever. Din himself was very familiar with it: it was nestled deep inside his own soul, dormant, but never truly gone.

“Cara is warming up one of your canned soups for you.”

A mirthless laugh shook Paz's back.

“If the infection didn't kill me, that stuff will.”

“That's what Cara said.”

This time Paz's laugh did sound amused.

“You got a real jewel, there, you old bastard.”

It was like Din needed to be told, but it was strange to hear such a comment from Paz, who was historically not easily impressed.

“I'm aware,” he said without any false modesty.

“How did you two meet?”

“We beat each other up outside a cantina.”

“Who won?”

“It ended in a draw.”

Paz scoffed. “She took pity on you.”

Din didn't know what to do with himself. Standing there with the kid in his arms felt awkward but he didn't dare to get any closer. He and Paz had shared a lot, in the past; now, however, he felt like they were perfect strangers to each other. They both had encountered major changes in their lives in this last year. Din had been the lucky one.

“You ever got back to Nevarro?”

The question sounded even graver in the silence of the room. Din told himself he should have seen it coming.

“Yes. A couple of times,” he replied, staring at Paz's back. “You didn't?”

“Why would I?” was Paz's curt reply. “They were all dead. All gone.”

There was sorrow tainting Paz's attempt to sound neutral. Din had no idea how many of their tribe were left, but Paz needed to know not all hope was lost.

“Not all of them.”

Finally, carefully, Paz rolled to his back. His lifted his head from the pillow to squint at Din in the pale morning light seeping through the boarded-up window.

“Yeah?”

“The Armourer survived.”

A smirk stretched Paz's mouth across his unkempt beard.

“Tough stuff, that one,” he grinned, then he blinked and his eyes seemed to get the room into focus. They stopped on the child in Din's arms.

“Such a slaughter of great warriors,” he said slowly. “For such an ugly little thing.”

Cara appeared on the threshold, holding a steamy chipped bowl in her hands.

“Watch your mouth, brother, it's our kid you're talking about,” she warned, heading straight to the bed. She sat down without ceremonies and placed the bowl on the wobbly wooden stool posing a bedside table next to Paz's head.

Paz's eyes softened as he looked up at her with a defiant glint in his eyes.

“How're you supposed to raise that green bub as a proud warrior?”

“He's weak, but very powerful,” said Din, frowning under his helmet, before he could stop himself. “Don't underestimate him because of how he looks.”

“Yeah,” agreed Cara. “We've got a cute tiny warrior. You got a problem with that?”

For some reason, the comment made Paz smile, but it was the saddest smile Din had ever seen. The way Paz was looking between Cara and Din was laced with a silent longing Din recognised as something he had once felt himself, back in a time when he had believed all he would ever have with Cara was hopeless dreams and unrequited feelings.

He wasn't surprised by the tinge on envy is Paz's tone when he replied to Cara:

“I'm actually surprised you're not surrounded by a whole lot of cute tiny warriors.”

“The fun is all in _trying,_ though, isn't it?” she retorted with a shameless wink that actually managed to coax a genuine laugh out of Paz.

"Stop making me fall in love with you, I've already hit rock bottom."

Cara stirred the spoon into the hot soup, looking down at him with a smug chuckle. "You haven't seen me without clothes."

"You have no mercy for this aching heart, _mesh'la buruk.”_

Cara snorted and checked his temperature. Paz closed his eyes when the back of her hand touched his forehead, letting out a deep, long sigh that crawled under Din's skin like a warm shiver. He knew exactly the comfort Cara's mere touch could provide: she hated to hear it, but she had this innate gift and it came in very handy when the child was sick or woke up from nightmares.

“I've never heard you cry mercy before,” he teased, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

“Gimme a break, man,” groaned Paz, sinking back into his pillow. “I'm trying to seduce your wife.”

“Keep that up, you're doing amazing,” said Cara, giggling.

“I detect more sarcasm, here.”

“And they say hunks can't be smart,” Cara quipped, meeting Din's eyes through the visor. She helped Paz sit up and fixed the pillow behind his back. It was so flat she had to fold it in two and crumple up a blanket behind it to make it work.

“He's not smart, he's an idiot,” Din corrected while Cara started feeding Paz small spoonfuls of soup. “I bet he's been trying to get himself killed all this time. Haven't you, Paz?”

“Can we talk about this guy's idiocy later?” Cara meddled sternly. “I'm trying to get this poor body hydrated.”

But Paz was looking at Din with an intensity that could have been cut with a knife. Din could see the anger boiling in his veins even through his cool composure.

“The Covert was our home,” Paz hissed, his breath suddenly more fatigued. “We lost-” He trailed off and looked away, scoffing. “ _I_ lost everything.”

"And you thought self destruction would fix it?"

"Easy for you to judge,” Paz spit back. “Look what you've got.” He gave a sharp nod at the child and at Cara, who was patiently holding the bowl on her lap with the impatient expression of a mother who was sick and tired of her children's quarrels. “What do I have? Everyone I loved is dead."

 _"Everyone?"_ asked Din, personally offended. What himself and Paz had shared might be ancient history, but he had never taken it for granted. Didn't he mean anything to Paz, if only as a brother?

He had his answer when Paz shot a quick glance up at Cara before retorting with a sour grimace, "You're married. Might as well be dead."

Din was about to protest for the absurdity of such a comment when Cara suddenly stood up and slammed the bowl back on the stool.

“Okay, you know what? You boys can finish this on your own.” She bent to take the baby from Din's lap and took him up in her own arms. “Me and the kid are out.”

She was _angry._ Angry in that affectionate way of hers that told Din she was worried about him. She was leaving the room to grant him and Paz to talk in private, and though Din't didn't have anything to hide from her, he knew it would be easier for him and Paz to blurt out whatever it was that was stuck in their throats, making them so bitter.

Cara stopped on the threshold to frown back at both of them.

“You two better fix whatever it is that needs to be fixed between you guys, because I'm not going to put up with any more of this passive-aggressive banthashit,” she warned before shutting the door behind herself.

Din stared at the door in awe with a fond smile tugging at his lips. He didn't deserve someone as amazing as her by his side and he'd always knows; still, he was glad she had chosen him.

With a sigh, Din moved up the bed to sit where Cara had been sitting and took the bowl from the stool. Anticipating his intentions, Paz crossed his arms across his chest and stubbornly stared ahead of himself. Din's attention fell briefly on the marks scattered across his torso, trying to figure out the ones he didn't know.

He tried to offer Paz a spoonful of soup, which was quickly running lukewarm, but Paz kept his mouth shut like the obstinate mudhorn he was.

He set the spoon down, took a deep breath, then patiently said, “I have a _riduur._ It doesn't mean I don't care about you.”

“You don't go back for a piece of junk when you find a goldmine,” Paz grumbled. Din would have never thought one day he's hear the proud Paz Vizla refer to himself as a piece of junk. His father was probably turning in his grave right now. So much for the pride of Mandalore living through its oldest bloodlines.

"You don't abandon your first child when a new one is born, though,” Din argued pointedly.

"It's not the same thing."

"How is it not the same?"

Paz didn't answer. There were beads of perspiration all over his face and light flush in his cheeks. He was playing tough but the fever must be still running high. What would have been of him if Cara hadn't challenged him in that cantina?

"Take your _mesh'la buruk_ and your cute kid,” said Paz in a low, throaty whisper. “And go. Leave me to drown in my shit."

Calmly but firmly, Din said, "No."

"Still the same old self-righteous jerk,” huffed Paz. He finally turned to Din, the blank stare on his face morphing into a cruel snigger. “I bet there's a little detail about us that you kept from your lovely wife.”

Din tilted his helmet, unimpressed. If Paz was trying to provoke him, he had chosen the wrong subject.

"I don't need to hide anything from Cara. She's the keeper of my secrets,” he declared in a perfectly relaxed tone that seemed to irk Paz enough to make Din grin in satisfaction.

“You _told_ her?”

“She knows we were a thing.”

“That's how they say _in love_ nowadays?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah. Because some coward called it off.”

This one actually hurt. Not because of the most offensive insult to a Mandalorian – _coward_ – but because it was true: Din had been the one to put an end to whatever he and Paz had had. They were young and reckless and arrogant, and thought they could have it all, but Paz was the heir of one of the most important clans of Mandalore, and Din was just a foundling without roots. It would never have lasted, anyway.

Din put a hand on his arm. He was _burning._

“Paz-”

“No, it's okay.” Paz gently pulled his arm away. “It was a fair trade: you got an upgrade. One who can give you plenty of beautiful warrior children, nonetheless.” He looked at Din with those unforgettable hazel eyes, and the hunger Din found in them was both heart-breaking and moving. “I'm not blaming you, man,” he added, more gently. “I'd pick her over me, too. Hell, I'd pick her over _you.”_

“Understandable.”

They exchanged a long look, then their chest started shaking with a silent laughter that rapidly grew loud and uncontrolled.

It brought Din back to a time he would always remember as the more carefree period of his life, when all he cares about was showing off his skills during training and impress the tall, older kid watching him from afar.

He had never seen Paz's face: when Din had been adopted into the tribe, Paz was already of age and was already wearing his first helmet. Din, who had been still a couple of year shy from thirteen, at the time, was a little in awe of strong, powerful son of clan Vizla and had barely been able to believe his luck when the boy had started talking to him. It had taken years of friendship for them to find the courage to take one stop further, but their time together had been good and many in their tribe saw them as a perfect couple. Din didn't know if that was true, but the one thing he did know was that Paz would have regretted choosing him as his partner, eventually.

When the laughter died out, a little of its easiness remained, and Paz became more malleable, after that. Din picked up the bowl again and, though a bit reluctantly, Paz let him feed him the soup spoonful by spoonful.

The intimacy in this gesture created warm haze around them. Din couldn't stop taking surreptitious peeks at Paz's face, trying to commit to memory every detail about it he had always dreamed to see: the colour of his irises, the three beauty marks lined like the tail of a falling star at the corner of his right eye and the scar cutting the thick brow above it in two.

Handsome indeed. His skills as a warrior along with silver tongue and these looks could have got him anywhere in the galaxy, and yet he had chosen to let himself waste away in this dirty hole. There was no way Din was going to walk out of this place without Paz.

When the soup was over, Din set the bowl aside but didn't leave. He stayed seated by Paz's side, wanting to say too many things and unable to form a single word to begin expressing even one of those. It was Paz, in the end, who broke the silence:

“How long has it been since we-” He let the words fade into an unspoken suggestion that made him smile nostalgically. “Twenty years?”

Din didn't need to hear it to know what he meant. They'd been thinking about the same thing, apparently.

“Eighteen?” he guessed after a quick calculation. Din had been twenty-two when his relationship with Paz had begun, Paz twenty-five. It had lasted three years.

Paz's hand timidly met Din's over the blanket. Din allowed him to sneak his fingers in between his own. He could still remember how they had done this countless times, lying on top of one another in the forest, in a dark corner of a warehouse. He didn't think it could still send this thrill down his spine.

Paz tentatively looked up at him.

“What would your wonder of a wife say if we... _rekindled?_ Just once, in memory of the old times.”

Din let out a disbelieving laugh.

“She'd probably be furious she didn't get to watch,” he answered in all honesty. He was ready to bet his helmet that Cara would never forgive him if he and Paz _rekindled_ without her.

Paz's eyes widened in wonder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Din nodded, and they burst into another comfortable laughter.

“You don't deserve that sublime creature, you son of a bantha,” said Paz, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I agree.”

Paz's hand tightened around his.

“I'll stop flirting with her if it annoys you,” he muttered, sounding deadly serious all of a sudden. “It's harmless, I swear.”

The hue of sadness in his voice wasn't lost on Din, who was listening not just with his ears but with his whole body, and could sense the tension rising Paz's posture, the slight twitch in his fingers.

Was there still hope for them? Was it possible that Paz, too, still harboured some of that _something_ they had shared almost two decades ago? On his part, Din had never really forgotten.

“The only thing Cara loves more than fighting is flirting,” he conveyed with a smile. “You're giving her the time of her life. I wouldn't deprive her of that pleasure for anything in the world.”

Paz suggestively wiggled his brows at him.

“I'm sure there another F-thing she loves more than both of those.”

Din almost chuckled under his helmet but didn't dignify the comment with an answer, so Paz continued:

“You seem very confident in the bond you two share.”

“I am,” Din confirmed.

It was true: the way Din and Cara's relationship had evolved through time had woven them so naturally and tightly together that they felt like there was nothing that could threaten them as a couple: they knew how they felt about each other and didn't fear external threats. One of their favourite pastimes was comparing their tastes in people observing crowds and passers-by. More than once they had fantasised about taking some hot guy or girl home for a fun night.

With a pained groan, Paz slid down into a lying position. The flush on his face was more intense than before.

“Better keep an eye open, pal,” he slurred. “I might be tempted to kill you in your sleep to get to her.”

Din's thumb absently brushed over the bruised back of Paz's hand as he said, smiling, “That would be a shamefully unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Yeah,” grumbled Paz as his eyes fluttered closed. “On a second thought I could choke you, but you might enjoy it.”

The smile on Din's lips curled further into a smug smirk. Cara would have _loved_ to join this conversation.

“That's not what I meant,” he started, but was interrupted by a loud snoring that made him look down: Paz was fast asleep, but his hand was unconsciously still holding onto Din's.

“Paz?” he called, to no avail. The big talk was going to have to wait, it seemed.

Din shook his head, inhaling deeply.

His heart was heavy with old memories surfacing all at once from years and years of debris and wrecks piling up upon them.

He glanced at the door beyond which Cara was waiting and realised she would read _everything_ upon him as soon as he would walk out of this room. There was no advantage to wearing a helmet with a wife like Cara Dune, and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

She was going to ask questions.

Maybe Din was finally ready to face the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long for this update, but life got in the way and then new ideas got in the way. I'm a mess.
> 
> Hope you guys liked this even though it didn't come out a funny and light-hearted as originally intended.
> 
> Let me know what you think? <3


	3. We Will Share All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara confronts Paz about the feelings he and Din have for each other. It doesn't quite end up as she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this all day, it's 10.40 PM and I don't have the energy to proof-read this for typos. Forgive me, I'll fix them ASAP.

Din walked back to the main room with a heavy heart. Trying to reason with this Paz was like talking to a wall. A wall hiding behind a barricade.

Paz was never easy to get through to, even back in the day. Din had fallen for him for his proud character, for how he would put honour and the tribe above anything else. He'd been raised to be a leader and had everyone's respect and admiration. At that time, Din was too busy trying to believe someone like Paz would choose someone like him, of all the adoring people Paz had around himself, to be with to realise their relationship couldn't have a future: Paz was expected to marry a Mandalorian woman and produce at least one heir. Being with a man wouldn't have met his clan's requirements. Din decided to sever their bond before it became too hard for them to break up, and Paz never forgave him for that. It's bittersweet, today, to see that, despite Din's sacrifice, Paz still failed to become the man he was brought up to be – bitter because Din gave him up for nothing, and sweet because, in the end, Paz may have ended up being a wreck, but at least this, however stupid and self-destructive, was _his_ choice and not his clan's.

Some of the weight constricting his heart evaporated the moment he spotted Cara curled in the armchair, next to which a shy fire was burning in the fireplace. The child was nestled against her chest, wrapped up in his green blanket; Cara was trying to sing him to sleep, rocking him gently, but he didn't seem very keen on sleep, at the moment: he was making bubbles with his mouth, making himself giggle in delight at his own silly sounds, much to Cara's quite amused frustration.

“You need to stop this,” she was warning with her finger pointed at the kid's nose. A silent laughter danced in her eyes when the kid giggled back, sputtering more bubbles.

“Stop being cute when I'm trying to scold you, you little shit!”

Din smiled inwardly. Seeing Cara being so tender and maternal would always give him thoughts he couldn't afford to dwell upon, but it was such a sweet, heart-warming picture he just couldn't stop staring.

“Should we gas him?” he quipped, approaching.

Cara looked up at him, closed her eyes for a moment, smiling, as his helmet touched her forehead.

“I guess he's picking up the tense vibes around here. Get ready for a long, bubbly night, daddy,” she said, then glanced down at the baby with a helpless sigh. Din ran a caress through her hair, trying to infuse in the gesture as much love and gratefulness as he could. Cara had been up all day to monitor Paz's conditions, looking after him with the same attention and dedication she would have had for Din himself. Not many people would have done this for an ex lover of their partner, but Cara seemed to understand how much Din cared about Paz and apparently accepted it whole-heartedly.

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking his hand.

“I think so.” Din considered sitting on the armrest next to Cara but quickly decided against it: that armchair didn't look sturdy enough to take his weight, even without the beskar, so he opted for the floor, instead.

“Same can't be said about that idiot, though.” He bent his knees and sat down at Cara's feet, propping his back against her shins, then slipped his helmet off and set it down.

Cara parted her legs just enough for him lean further back and rest his head back on her lap with an exhausted sigh. Cara curled a hand around his jaw, stroking under his chin with her thumb.

“He seems... lost.”

"He lost the Way,” he corrected dryly. “He's a _dar'manda.”_

“Din,” soothed Cara in a painfully compassionate whisper. _“_ He hasn't lost the Way. He lost himself, lost his belonging. I can't imagine what he must have seen on Nevarro, that day. He walked out of that massacre alone. He's entitled to be freaked out."

She was right, of course. He didn't know how it was Cara, who was the one easily incensed between the two of them, telling him to slow down and reflect before he judged; maybe it was her unbiased point of view allowing her to see things more clearly, maybe she was simply wiser than he was.

"He was always quite hot-headed, but... I didn't expect him to have abandoned the Way."

"Trauma is a bitch. Be a little sympathetic."

"I am,” he said defensively, but immediately realised it was an instinctual lie. “I'm... trying."

Even though his eyes were closed, he could feel a subtle grin in Cara's voice as she said, “Are you so upset because of what he did to himself or because he ruined the idea you had of him?”

Once again, she was proving to know him better than he knew himself. Din couldn't help a faint, reluctant laugh.

“Get out of my head, Dune.”

“I'm not in your head, buddy. I'm in your stupid heart.”

Always so smug. Did she never tire of being so obnoxiously right?

“He needs you, Din,” continued Cara, her caresses soft and loving over his cheek. “You're all he has left. _Literally._ We can't leave him here alone.”

“I know,” Din admitted.

Leaving Paz to himself was definitely not an option: the deranged moron would positively find a way to get himself killed, one way or another, and Din felt he had a responsibility toward him. Perhaps he could convince Paz to go back to Nevarro with him and look for the Armourer. There was still a possibility more survivors had scattered in the galaxy: if they found them, the Covert could be restored.

“Hey,” Cara's hand stilled as her voice got serious, “if you still care about him, you should tell him.”

Yes, Paz probably needed to hear that, at least as much as Din needed to confess it to him. He opened his eyes to find Cara's staring down on him, no trace of jealousy or judgement in them, only love.

“Then what?” he inquired. The child was looking back and forth between him and Cara, his ears twitching curiously, as though he had been wondering the same thing Din was and couldn't wait to hear a response.

And Cara, being the incredible person she was, juts smirked down at Din, her thumb tracing the outline of his lower lip, and said, “I don't know. Can the Crest still take off with an extra two-hundred-pound Mando on board?”

“You want to take him in?”

“We're certainly not settling down in this stinky hole.”

“You would do that?” Din asked, a bit breathlessly. “You would share our life with Paz for me?”

Cara held the child tighter to her chest and leant down to press a fond kiss on Din's lips.

“You fool,” she murmured. “I'd do anything for you.”

  
  


*

  
  


They switched places: Din sat down and took the kid to try to get him to sleep, and Cara went to check on Paz.

He was asleep. The fever was still high, but the worst had passed. With some rest and some decent food, he should be able to get back on his feet within a couple of days. All Cara had to do was _convince_ him to follow her recommendations, which wasn't going to be easy: dealing with Paz Vizla was like dealing with a giant, unruly baby.

Cara couldn't imagine what he must have been like in the past, but even now that he was lying unconscious and drenched in sweat, she couldn't look at him and _not_ see the man Din had been – and probably still was – in love with.

To Din's credit, he had fallen for this man without the unarguable incentive of being allowed to see his handsome face – and this credit went in equal measure to Paz, she had to concede. What Cara saw in the man lying in the bed before her was a bleeding soul in desperate need of a reason to heal, which, to her taste, sounded all too familiar to her own scarred heart. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Paz to have someone like Din beside himself, however different Din was back then, and lose him – and ultimately lose everything.

She sat down at Paz's side, taking in his large figure in the milky moonlight pouring in right upon him from the window: his broad chest was marked with scars of all shapes and sizes, much like Din's, mementos of battles Cara could barely imagine. She felt sorry for him for the loneliness he had encountered after the loss of the Covert. _This_ was a grief Cara could imagine: her entire world had been wiped out, if there was someone who could understand what Paz was going through, that was her.

She tried to shear off the debris of years of anger and solitude, digging through the scars and the cheeky facade, and what she found beneath was an injured beast curled in his lair, letting himself bleed to death not even bothering to lick his wounds.

“You're as big as you're stupid, buddy,” she muttered as she wiped his face with a fresh cloth.

He had a scar on his left cheekbone, she noticed, a reversed V that cut into his skin and seemed to merge along the line on the other scar he had across his left eyebrow. Something sharp must have hit his face quite violently to leave such a peculiar mark.

She knew so little of this man, and yet she couldn't help feeling drawn to him. It would have been easy to blame this on the fact that he was important to Din, and whatever and whoever was important to her husband was important to her; however, a part of her realised it was more than that: there was something oddly familiar in Paz's coping mechanisms, in the way he seemed so fond of trouble. Cara had been there: ever since running from the army, she had spent her days between bar brawls and solitary nights drowning her sorrow in alcohol, covered in bruises and self-commiseration. She felt inexplicably protective of this huge guy who acted like a silly kid, and there was nothing she could do to change this.

She turned to dip the cloth into the basin of cold water she'd put on the stool by the bed, and when she turned back she found his eyes open in two drowsy slits as he tried to blink her into focus.

_"Mesh'la?"_

Cara stifled a grin. So she was just _Beautiful,_ now?

"Good evening,” she greeted. “How are you feeling?"

Paz shut his eyes with a groan as he tried, quite uselessly, to move.

"Not... dead?”

His voice was a thick blur. Cara could see the white coating his mouth when he licked his chapped lips.

“You need to drink,” she said. She took a glass of water and help up his head to help him drink one small sip at a time. When he was done, Paz sank back into the pillow with a pained moan. He still has some trouble breathing; Cara took a mental note to get him some balsamic herbs, assuming this sorry excuse of a town had a market.

She dabbed the cloth over Paz's face and down his neck; he sighed in relief.

“You have very gentle hands."

"Or you just have very low standards," she retorted with a chuckle that successfully extorted a light laugh out of him.

"Could be. I've never been touched like this by anyone. Not even-"

"Din?"

Paz rolled his head in her direction, staring hazily at her with a deep, quizzical scowl. Cara simply stared back.

"You're in love with my man,” she acknowledged. “Okay, so what?” She gave a shrug, then winked at him, “Can't blame you."

“Yeah, well,” Paz faced away, his features darkening, “we didn't part on the best terms. Went through a rough patch, became almost strangers...”

“He's here for you, now,” she stressed, but he pretended not to hear.

“Paz,” she insisted, with the patient tone of an adult trying to reason with a whiny child. “You need help. We're not leaving you here to waste your life away.”

He almost turned around when she said ' _we'._

"There's nothing for me out there."

"There's Din. And I'm here for you, too."

This seemed to do the trick: Paz rolled his head back in her direction, scrutinising her with hooded eyes full of sadness, and muttered, “I'm not joking when I say I'm head over heels for you, you know?”

A genuine pang of affection seized Cara's heart. She slid closer to Paz, put a hand on his bare shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Let us be your reason to get back on your feet, then."

Paz broke into a blue smile.

"That little ship will be a bit crowded, don't you think?"

“She can take it,” Cara promised.

Paz's eyes flickered across her face, lingering more than once on her lips. Cara would never admit she was a little flattered by his fascination with her. It was also comforting, in a way, to know she had a place in the thoughts of the man who was in love with her husband and whom her husband loved back.

It took a while before Paz, swallowing, finally asked, "Why do you care so much?"

Cara's hand trembled; she started retracting it from Paz's shoulder, but Paz's large hand came up to stop it and press it back against his skin. He was still burning from the fever, Cara's touch must feel almost cool upon him. She let his fingers dip between hers and flex lightly in something like a caress. He was touch-starved, she could feel it in his hesitation, see it in the hunger in his eyes.

"I can see the good in you,” she whispered. “And your pain, too. I can see a reflection of myself in that."

“Who did you lose?”

“Everything,” said Cara with a lump swelling in her throat, “everyone. I was born on Alderaan.”

Paz's smile became bitter as his eyes lock with Cara's.

“That explains so much.”

“Does it?”

“You have war in your eyes,” he said. The pressure of his hand over Cara's intensified. “I've never seen so much kindness in someone wounded so deeply.”

Cara stiffened.

She had never been particularly kind, mostly because kindness used to be seen as weakness in her old line of duty. She finally allowed the luxury of being kind only after meeting a certain Mandalorian and his green kid, but it certainly wasn't a dominant trait in her character, one a stranger would notice above the rest. Being defined _kind_ by someone she had barely just met felt strange, and perhaps slightly surprising, but she wasn't such a hypocrite to try to convince herself she wasn't pleased to hear it.

“We should check your temperature,” she said, withdrawing her hand carefully.

“You need to _check_ to know I'm hot?” replied Paz.

Cara, who had been about to feel his forehead, sat back with a warning look that wasn't entirely annoyed.

“I can't do this if you keep hitting on me, pal.”

“Forgive me.” Paz offered her an apologetic half a smile that actually managed to pull several strings in Cara's soul. She felt suddenly exposed, but Paz wasn't interested in exploiting her vulnerability; not as much as safeguarding his own, at least.

“I'm making a fool of myself with you because...” He trailed off, and his chest shook with a weak laugh. “Sister, everything about you is a work of art. But I guess the truth is... I hate that fucker for being so fulfilled.”

Cara arched her brows. _“That fucker_ being my husband?”

“Don't twist the knife.”

“You mean you hate him for being so fulfilled without you?”

Paz snorted, but the way he was looking at Cara could only be described as awe.

“Why can you read right through me?”

“I can't,” said Cara, feeling a surge of sudden fondness for the guy. That was a question Din had asked her a thousand times. “But Din's that kind of person you have to fight to get and don't want to lose.”

“You're never gonna lose him. You've got him wrapped around your charming little finger.”

“I know,” she admitted. She had no intention to sound smug: she simply knew what she and Din had could not be threatened.

"My love was always unrequited,” said Paz out of nowhere, “and I was okay with that. It couldn't be me, but at least it wasn't gonna be anybody else, either. _'No one's ever gonna breach through that beskar heart,'_ I kept telling myself.” His gaze softly rose to Cara. “Guess I had to open my eyes to that beautiful face of yours hovering upon me in that cantina to see how wrong I was."

"Now you're just flattering me,” she grinned

Paz gave a light shrug. "I would, if I thought it'd work. Stars, the things I'd do to have just one taste of you... That bastard is damn lucky.”

“The luck is mutual,” said Cara. Why did her cheeks suddenly feel so warm?

Paz let out another faint laugh.

“Don't I know. I'm glad it's you, though. I couldn't have accepted losing him to anybody else.”

“You haven't lost him,” she objected. This was the point of the whole conversation, had he even listened to a single word Cara had spoken so far?

“Yes, I have.”

“No. He's angry and confused, but what he felt about you is still there.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I love him,” said Cara with a light, condescending giggle, “and I want him to be happy.”

Paz's features contracted into a wistful frown. Cara had no idea why it was so hard to believe she merely wanted what was best for everyone. If Paz did love Din, he must feel the same way.

Slowly, his hand sought Cara's over the blanket coving half of his body. She watched as he took it and and started rubbing his thumb over her scratched knuckles. When he looked at her, he was so serious Cara nearly flinched.

“You got no problem with me getting between you two?”

His touch burned on her skin – not because of the fever, she suspected. She didn't know when her pulse had started speeding up so much. She couldn't believe this mess of a Mandalorian was effectually carving his way to her heart, and so quickly.

She tilted her head to one side, lips curling up, and said, “It's so sweet of you to think you _could_ get between me and my beskar idiot. Sorry, buddy: you can't.”

She let her words knock some boldness away from Paz's expression.

“But we can civilly make some room,” she added before he had a chance to pity himself. “ _A lot_ of room, if necessary.”

And then, just as quickly as it had clouded, Paz's face brightened up with the most sincere and heart-breaking flicker of hope Cara had ever seen. It took him a few seconds to regain his confidence.

“ _Civilly?”_ he pouted. “No hope for me to woo you, _mesh'la buruk?”_

Cara laughed, a deep, spontaneous laugh that washed away some of the tension in her back and made her feel lighter.

“Keep trying. Who knows.”

“You like me. I know you do,” said Paz, holding her hand tighter. His tone was playful but there was a shade of desperation to it that made something melt inside Cara.

She glanced down and her and Paz's hands holding on to each other. “What if I did?”

She didn't know if she was asking this to Paz or to herself.

What if she _did?_ What if she found out she actually _liked_ this man independently from his history with her husband? Would it really be so crazy to consider that the three of them could...

“Things could get very interesting,” smirked Paz, shaking her out of her train of thought.

Cara bit her lip.

“Are you serious about this whole thing, Paz? The unrelenting flirting, the innuendos...” She shook her head, grinning to herself. “You don't need to conquer me to get to Din. If he wants you, you can have him.”

“You're just making me more and more smitten with you, _cyar'ika,”_ said Paz. “This unbreakable confidence you and Din have about your bond... you have no idea how hot that is.”

“Oh, I do,” she purred, rather proudly. She did know, but it still felt good to hear.

Paz gathered her hand between both of his, holding it to his chest with a passionate glint in his look. “You're gonna haunt my dreams forever with those beautiful eyes of yours.”

“I know exactly what sort of dreams my _eyes_ are going to give you,” Cara giggled, feeling a flare of heat, not only in her cheeks, but all over herself and inside. She might be wrong, but she had a feeling things were already getting interesting.

“So, are you two going to kiss or what?”

Both Cara and Paz jumped. From the door across the room, Din chuckled. He had put his helmet back on and was leaning against the door frame with a shoulder, arms folded across his chest. How long had he been there, exactly?

Cara tutted. “He's not going to have that so easily.”

“There _is_ hope?” exclaimed Paz, bolting up from his pillow, only to be pushed back into it by Cara's firm hand, which he was still clutching between his own.

“Why can't I keep my damn mouth shut?” she groaned, fighting against the pull she was feeling at the corners of her mouth. She pressed her lips together with all the dignity she could muster, then took a deep breath and cast a brief glance Din's way. At Din's encouraging nod, she said to Paz, “You've got a place in the family, if you want it.”

“What about your heart, _mesh'la?”_ Paz inquired with an exaggerated sigh. “Do I have a place in there, too?”

“Isn't your place in my husband's heart enough, for now?” she argued, though deep down she couldn't deny she was enjoying Paz's theatrics more than she should.

“I love you as much as I love him, my warrior goddess,” he declared, prompting a sound from Din that was half a snort, half a laugh.

“We've known each other for _three days,_ Paz,” Cara argued amiably. “Isn't that a bit of a stretch?”

“And for three days I've been ardently in love with you!”

He was still feverish, Cara told herself. She couldn't strangle a feverish man for acting ridiculous.

“Do you guys take drama courses at Mandalorian school?” she wondered, turning around to extend the question to Din, too, who shook his helmet in amusement.

“I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.”

“Just give me a sparkle of hope,” Paz begged, ignoring her comment completely, “and I'll cling to that forever!”

Cara was laughing again. Something must be wrong with her. She turned back to Din again and quirked a brow at him.

“Our marriage vows did say _'We will share all'...”_

This time, Din's snort was definitely a badly concealed laugh. Before he could say anything, however, Paz bolted up again:

“Say no more, Cara! This beskar heart is yours and nobody else's!”

Still leaning against the door frame, Din cleared his throat with an eloquent tilt of his helmet.

“Yours,” Paz rolled his eyes, “and that shiny guy over there's,” he rephrased with a hint in Din's direction.

“He's rather cute, isn't he?”

“Yeah. We should keep him.”

Din brought a hand to the forehead of his helmet and massaged the beskar with an aggravated sigh.

“I'm not sure I can stomach the cheek of you two combined.”

Cara could feel his grin all the way across the room, and apparently, judging by how stupidly he was beaming, so did Paz.

She still wasn't completely sure this was a good idea, but there wasn't much she could do about it, anyway. They were going to take Paz away from this horrible place, and that was it; what would come next, they would face together, all four of them.

“I guess we're gonna find out,” she said while Din came forward, bringing his aura of peace with himself. He sat down behind Cara and pulled her onto his lap; slowly, without a word, the heads of the three of them moved toward each other until they hesitantly met in the most awkward, most touching Mandalorian kiss the galaxy had ever seen.

In the quiet intimacy of this moment, surrounded by two pairs of arms, Cara realised her life had just reached a whole new level of crazy.

Now she was going to have to deal with _two_ helmeted idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, this is another one of those oneshots that took a direction of their own and ended up much longer than intended. I have no idea how I expcted to squeeze a decent OT3 fanfic into a oneshot, how naive of me, seriously. I'm not even sure I managed to make it convicing in three chapters... duh.
> 
> Tomorrow is Monday and Mondays suck, but if you want to make it suck much less, you could drop a comment. Just saying! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Copaani gaan, vod? = Need a hand, mate?  
> K'atini! = Suck it up!  
> Copaani mirshmure'cye, ner vod? = Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?  
> Keudesiir, ner vod = Calm down, buddy.  
> Udesii = Hush  
> Cyar'ika = darling  
> Riduur = Partner/Spouse  
> Vor'e, ner vod = Thank you, brother.
> 
> This is going to be short, so next chapter will also be the last. I hope you guys enjoyed this.
> 
> Let me know what you think of this. ;)


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